Father Christmas
by JenValjean24601
Summary: Belated response to Pontmercy's holiday challenge. Cosette learns about the secrets of Christmas, and ultimately recieves the gift of a lifetime. Surprise at the end, mild slash.
1. Christmas Eve, 1829

**Christmas Eve, 1829**

It was December the 24th, 1829. Three months earlier, the younger Fauchelevent and his little charge, Cosette, departed from the Convent of the Perpetual Adoration and established residence at number fifty-five Rue Plumet. Although the younger Fauchelevent had had many reservations about this sudden relocation-the most pressing being his constant worry that his true identity as the wanted convict Jean Valjean would be discovered by the unrelenting Inspector Javert-he was still resolved that young Cosette should know some sort of life outside of the convent. Therefore, Jean Valjean pushed his fears aside and left as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

But thus far, much to Jean Valjean's chagrin, Cosette's life had changed very little. When she and her father first arrived at their new home, Cosette had expressed great interest in the overgrown and unused garden that surrounded the house. Unfortunately, it was winter and she could do no work outside until the ground thawed. This left her inside by herself most of the time. On occasion, Jean Valjean brought Cosette forth into the world for a short walk, or to give alms, but these sallies did not occur as frequently as she would have liked. Instead of spending all her days in the convent, she spent them in the Petite Maison.

This displeased Jean Valjean.

Not that he wished his daughter to roam about the streets of Paris, associating with God knows what kinds of people, no! Jean Valjean merely wanted to place a little whimsy into his daughter's life. He was afraid that after so many years of being stifled at the convent that she would grow sullen and withdrawn, like so many of the girls who had remained there and taken their vows.

And now it was December the 24th, 1829, and Jean Valjean had his chance.

Early in the afternoon, Jean Valjean ventured into the Petite Maison to look for Cosette. He found her sitting placidly in front of the fireplace sewing a bit of lace onto a doll's costume. He approached her.

"Hello, Cosette."

She looked up. "Hello, Papa," she replied.

Jean Valjean knelt down beside her. "What do you have there?" he asked.

Cosette held up a miniature riding cloak. Jean Valjean took it carefully ad inspected the child's work. "Lovely," he told her, handing it back to her. Beaming, the girl took it, and continued her sewing.

After a moment, Jean Valjean spoke again. "Are you looking forward to tomorrow, child?" he asked.

"Tomorrow is Christmas," Cosette answered.

"That's right," Jean Valjean agreed. "Tomorrow is Christmas. Are you looking forward to Christmas tomorrow?"

"No," said Cosette. "What is there to look forward to? We will just go to Mass like we do every Sunday, and then come home for supper. It's just a regular day, Papa."

Jean Valjean leaned in close to the girl, his blue eyes twinkling, and whispered in her ear, "Now, that's where you're wrong."

Surprised, Cosette's head snapped up, and she looked her father full in the face. "Whatever do you mean, Papa?" she asked, bewildered.

"Ah, child!" Jean Valjean sighed. "You must have forgotten, spending all of those years in the convent, cut off from the secrets of Christmas."

Cosette's face lit up. Her sewing forgotten, she asked eagerly, "Secrets! Why, what sorts of secrets!"

Now fully enjoying himself, Jean Valjean answered, "Think, Cosette. Think back to when you were young. Do you remember a man called Father Christmas?"

Cosette scrunched up her face, trying to recall the identity of this mysterious man. Finally, she said, "I only remember hearing his name." She looked embarrassed. "I don't remember much from when I was young."

"That is all right, Cosette. Would you like me to tell you of him?"

"Yes, please, Papa."

Jean Valjean began in a low voice, "Father Christmas is an ancient man who lives up in the wild Northern lands. He spends his days crafting toys of every shape, size and colour, and once every year, on Christmas Eve, he fills up a gigantic red sleigh, and flies through the sky, visiting all of the good little children of the world, and rewarding them for their obedience throughout the year."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Cosette exclaimed. "But Papa, what do all of the naughty children get?"

Jean Valjean smiled knowingly, and said solemnly, "Father Christmas has a companion, dark, terrible and cruel, named Father Whip, who accompanies Father Christmas every year on this journey. It is _he_ who gives the naughty children what _they_ deserve!"

Cosette shuddered. "How lucky I am to be good," she mused.

"Just as lucky for me, child."

"Papa, I think that I should like to meet this Father Christmas. Will he visit me tonight? When will he arrive?"

"He will visit you tonight, child, but you shall not see him, for he arrives late, late at night, after you are already asleep. He will leave his gifts for you spread out in a grand display in front of the fireplace. But only if you are good, and do not try to catch him, for Father Christmas is a secretive man, and he will not be pleased if you see him at work."

Cosette made a face. "He sounds like you, Papa," she remarked.

Jean Valjean laughed heartily. "Perhaps, perhaps," he said.

"Papa," said Cosette. "How does Father Christmas know what kinds of gifts I will like?"

Jean Valjean thought for a moment. "Well," he said. "Why don't you write him a letter? Then you can leave it in front of the fireplace along with a plate of cakes and a mug of cider, and then perhaps he will be extra kind to you."

"Do you think so, Papa?" Cosette asked.

"I know so."

Giddy, Cosette jumped up and threw her arms around Jean Valjean. "Oh, thank you for telling me all of this, Papa!" she exclaimed. "I will go do so, right now!" And off she ran, upstairs to her room, no doubt in search of a pencil and some paper.


	2. Christmas Day, 1829

**Christmas Day, 1829**

Cosette awoke the next morning in a state of profound agitation. She had not slept much the night before, but was not tired in the least; in fact, the very moment that she rose, she flew downstairs to see what had been left for her the night before. As soon as she reached the entrance to the parlour, her tiny mouth dropped open in response to what lay before her eyes.

Before her was the most fantastic display of gifts ever to be seen by a child on Christmas morning. There were violets, crocuses and snowdrops, all arranged with baby's breath in colourful glass vases around the room, and exquisite porcelain dolls of every shape and size. There were piles of clothing: dresses, hats, a pair of heeled boots, and a fur-lined hooded cloak with a matching muff for the cold weather. There were candies and cakes, chocolates and honey sticks, biscuits and cookies. There was a vanity mirror and bench, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and painted in places with the finest gold. There was a child's bookshelf, stacked high with all manner of gilt books. There were richly woven blankets and pillows. There was even a comb, mirror and brush set made of solid silver. And in the midst of all of this treasure sat Jean Valjean, glorious and grand, in a magnificent wine plush armchair in the front of the fire, smiling so fiercely that it seemed that his gentle face would break in half! He held out a cup and saucer to his daughter.

"Good morning, child," he said.

Unable to contain her glee any longer, Cosette squealed a cry of pure joy and ran towards her father. The happy old man stood up and embraced the girl. She covered his shining face in a myriad of tiny kisses.

"Oh, Papa!" she exclaimed. "Look! Look! Can you believe it?"

Jean Valjean smiled down warmly at her, and handed her her morning tea. "I can," he replied.

Cosette looked down at her tea, and began searching for a suitable companion among the piles of sweets on the floor. After a moment, she picked up a green frosted cake and took a bite. She smiled contentedly.

"How is it, Cosette?" Jean Valjean asked her.

"It's delicious," she answered. She held out the rest to Jean Valjean, but he waved it away.

"Why don't you try some of the others?" he suggested. He stooped down and picked up a thick slice of ginger bread, a bag of candied violets and a large sugar cookie. Cosette took the ginger bread and unceremoniously shoved the entire piece into her mouth. She chewed it awkwardly, unable to completely close her mouth in order to swallow. Jean Valjean laughed.

"Careful, child," he admonished, handing her a glass of milk. Cosette took it and washed down the bread with a large gulp.

"Thank you, Papa!"

"You're welcome."

For the next hour, the happy pair made their way around the room, inspecting every single gift that had been left by the generous Father Christmas. They sampled all of the various treats with relish. Cosette tried on her new cloak and danced around the room, letting it twirl around her ankles like leaves in the wind. She plaited her hair with the aid of her new comb and vanity, and leafed through the dozens of books which had been arranged on the shelf. Finally, when there was nothing left to examine, they collapsed back in the gigantic armchair, exhausted from their explorations.

Jean Valjean turned to his daughter and asked, "Are you satisfied, Cosette? Did you get everything you asked for?"

"I am very satisfied, Papa," she answered. "It's just-" She hesitated.

"Yes?" her father prompted.

"Well, I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I _am _grateful, I really am, but there was one gift that I asked for that I didn't get. And it was the gift that I wanted most of all." She sighed. "I'm sorry, Papa."

Jean Valjean put his arm around her. "Don't be disappointed, Cosette," he said. "And you have no need to be sorry. Just remember that you are young, and have many years ahead of you during which you will receive presents more incredible that those you have received this morning. Be content for now, and wait patiently for what you will be given when you are older."

Cosette thought for a moment. "I think you are right, Papa," she said thoughtfully. "Thank you." Then she yawned a mighty yawn and curled up into the warmth of her father's chest. Within moments, she was fast asleep.


	3. February 16th, 1833

**February 16th, 1833**

The wedding, although small, had been lovely. All of those present said that they had never before seen a couple more in love, a couple more glad to be married to each other under the eyes of God, or a couple more thankful to be allowed to spend the rest of their lives together. Even the bride's father, no matter how sorry he was to let her go, agreed with these, and wished her and her husband the very best.

One by one, the guests left. The banquet had been eaten hours ago, and the last strains of the music which followed had finally floated away in the chill evening air. Two maids swept around the room, gathering all of the empty champagne glasses, cards, gifts and uneaten food, and fluttered away just as suddenly as they had arrived. Chuckling a little to himself, the grandfather told the new couple to enjoy the rest of their wedding night, and bid them farewell.

Marius and Cosette were alone in the parlour.

"Angel," Marius cooed, holding out his hand to her. "Why don't we-" He broke off, distracted by her beauty, and the feel of her soft hand under his own. "Oh, my love," he sighed. "We are so lucky."

Cosette flashed him a demure smile. "We are," she purred. She lifted up her free hand, and gently caressed Marius' cheek. Closing his eyes in ecstasy, he leaned forward into her until his head rested on her shoulder, and her hand found its way into his ebony tresses.

"I love you, Cosette," he whispered.

"And I love you, Marius," Cosette replied. She brushed her lips against his neck, and felt him tremble slightly at her touch.

They stood there for a few moments, in silent reverence, as one might stand before the Cross.

"Marius?' Cosette ventured. He slowly lifted his head in response.

"Yes, my love?" he murmured.

"Are you tired?"

Marius blushed. "I suppose…maybe a little," he said.

"Would you like to…oh…." Cosette cast her eyes down. "I mean, if you're tired, then we should probably-"

"Go upstairs to-"

"Bed?" Cosette flushed from her cheeks all the way into her bosom. "Perhaps we should."

Marius nodded. "Perhaps," he softly repeated. Without another word, he took her tiny hand, and began to lead her out of the parlour. Cosette took one step, and stopped suddenly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

"What is it, darling?" Marius asked, turning back to her.

"I-I stepped on something. Here." Cosette bent down and picked up a small piece of paper. After looking at it for a moment, she peeked up at her husband. "I think its another card," she said. "I thought that Toussaint had gathered them all."

"Let me see," said Marius.

Cosette promptly handed the card over to him. "I don't think its for you, my love," she said hesitantly.

Marius looked it over, then handed it back to her. "I don't think so either," he admitted. "it's addressed just to you. Why don't you open it, Cosette?"

Cosette looked curiously down at the card, but did nothing.

"Go on, angel," Marius encouraged her. "It's alright."

With a tentative hand, Cosette carefully ripped open the envelope, and took out the little card. She read it to herself and gasped.

"What does it say?" asked Marius eagerly.

"Read it! Read it! Here!" Cosette exclaimed. She thrust the card at him, and clapped her petite hands together in glee.

Marius, more than a little confused, opened the card. It read:

_To little Cosette,_

_I know that it has been four years, and I know that it is no longer Christmas, but I still wanted to send you my best wishes as you receive this final gift. I could not find a suitable prince, but your new husband is a baron, and I thought that would please you just as well. You were very patient, and I am very proud of you. Be good, and I will see you-though you will not see me!-in December._

_F.C._

"Cosette," said Marius, holding the card back out to her. "What does this mean?"

Cosette danced over to him, and threw her dainty arms about his neck. "Marius, oh Marius!" she cried. "It means he's real! He's really real!"

"Who's real, Cosette?"

"Father Christmas!"

"Cosette, I don't understand," said Marius. He put a hand out onto her shoulder to halt her wild dancing. "What does any of this have to do with Father Christmas?"

"He's finally given me my last Christmas gift," Cosette explained, beaming. "I asked for dolls and clothes, and candies and books, and I asked for a handsome prince who would fall in love with me and want to marry me. And that's _you_, Marius! That's _you_! So he's real! He must be! And he sent me this card so that I would _know_ he was real!" She twirled around, laughing. "And you _are_ my prince, Marius!" She paused, and turned back to him. Taking his face in her hands, she said, "You're perfect, Marius. You're better than any other gift I could ever hope for." She rose up on her tiptoes, and kissed him squarely on the lips. "I love you, Marius."

Marius sighed and smiled, and shook his head. "I won't pretend to understand it, Cosette," he confessed. "But I love you, and if you're happy, then I don't need to understand."

"I _am_ happy, Marius. I really am." Cosette stepped forward, and let Marius wrap his sturdy arms around her. Her head fell forward onto his chest, and she sighed a small sigh of contentment.

After a moment, Marius suggested, "Why don't we go up into-"

"Bed?" Cosette finished, teasingly. "Why don't we?"

Laughing, Marius scooped up his tiny bride, and carried her out of the parlour and up the stairs. And as Marius kicked open the heavy oak door to their bedroom, the couple heard a faint voice cry out, "Merry Christmas, Cosette!"

But when they turned around to see who it was, there was no one there.


	4. Epilogue

**Christmas Eve, 1833**

The door flew open, and a harried-looking man in a bulky fur coat trudged inside, leaving a thick trail of ice, snow and muck behind him. A bitterly cold wind whistled in after him, almost blowing the door completely off its hinges. The man turned around, gripped the doorknob in one strong, gloved hand, and slowly forced the door shut again. The wind fought back, but the man proved to be the stronger in this contest of might, and he triumphed over brutal Winter.

The room was small, but open. A colossal fireplace took up the majority of the wall opposite the door, and the fire blazing inside of it was so bright that its light could be seen shining on the snow outside of the little cabin. Before this fire there were two tall arm chairs. The man went straight for the nearest one, and sat down to take off his boots. He struggled for a moment with the first one before it flew off suddenly and splashed partially melted snow all over. Unfortunately, the man in the other armchair received a good portion of this rime, and he jumped up, fuming.

"For God's sake, Valjean!" he yelped. "Take care!" He brushed the ice from his clothes as best as he could and sat down heavily again in the armchair.

The first man-Valjean-glowered at him. But far from offending the other man, this scowl actually seemed to improve his spirits, if anything, and the man said pleasantly, "So I see that you've finally shuffled off your mortal coil, Valjean."

"Though in a slightly less theatrical manner than you, Javert," Valjean replied stiffly.

Javert gave a soft chuckle. "What can I say, Valjean? I wanted to go out with a bang." He paused, musing. "It was my time anyhow," he continued. "I grew tired of the never-ending charade that was my human life. And I was starting to get the feeling that people were discovering my secret."

Valjean rolled his eyes. "Javert, just because that one little girl figured you out doesn't mean that others had as well."

Javert waved away this comment with a flip of his slender hand. "It's just as well," he said breezily. "Where have _you_ been? I've been waiting here for _months_. I thought you died back in June."

"I did."

"So where have you been?"

"Around."

Javert snorted. "Brooding, no doubt!"

"Not brooding. Thinking."

"Brooding," Javert muttered.

"Well, I'm here _now_, so stop complaining. We've got a lot to do tonight, so we may as well get started."

"Not yet, I'm freezing."

Valjean sighed. "Alright, I'll get you a cup of coffee. But after that, we leave!" With some effort, he arose from his seat and ambled into the other room.

"Valjean!" Javert called after him.

"Yes?" came the faint reply.

"I've got a question for you!"

"Yes?"

"Do you really think that I'm dark, terrible, and cruel?"

Valjean came back into the living room carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. He gave one to Javert, and then sat back down in his armchair. He took a tentative sip of his coffee. "When did I say that?" he asked.

"A few years ago, on Christmas Eve, to your little girl."

"Oh, yes," Valjean said. "I remember."

"Well?"

"You are quite dark in colour," Valjean began. "And you certainly are a terrible _dresser._ But maybe calling you cruel was a bit harsh."

Javert snorted. "I should think _so_," he replied.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be." Javert looked down at his coffee. "Two lumps of sugar with just a splash of cream." He took a long, satisfied sip.

"I remember," Valjean said to him.

"I know, you always do," Javert replied fondly. He smiled slightly and went back to his coffee. Valjean followed suit.

They sat there for a few moments, each quietly enjoying his coffee and the other's company, displaying the breed of devotion that has no need for articulation.

Valjean finished first. He put his boots back on, rose from his chair once more, his old joints creaking in protest, and hobbled over to Javert.. Javert also rose from his chair, and handed Valjean his empty cup and saucer.

"We can leave the dishes until later," he said. "We really should get started."

"Are you sure you've been warmed up sufficiently?" asked Valjean teasingly.

"For now," his companion replied. "The rest will have to wait until we're through." Javert grinned mischievously.

"Of course," said Valjean, his blue eyes twinkling. "So the sooner we leave, the sooner we can return."

"Shall we?" Javert offered his arm, and looked at Valjean expectantly. With a shy smile, Valjean took the proffered arm, and let himself be led to the door.

"This is the first year in quite a long time that we've been able to spend Christmas Day together," Valjean remarked, as Javert opened the front door to their lodge and motioned for him to pass through.

"Yes, it is," Javert agreed. He followed Valjean out into the snow, and shut the door behind him.

"Should be nice."

"Should be."

Arm in arm, they made their way around to the back of their meagre dwelling, where there stood a gigantic stable. In front of this structure, there was an equally gigantic sleigh, red as a cherry, with nine colossal reindeer tied together in front. One of them whinnied, and stamped his mighty foot in a show of impatience. Valjean went to him.

"Why, Auguste!" he exclaimed. He reached into a side pocket and pulled out a handful of sugar cubes. Feeding them slowly to the impetuous buck, he said, "You've readied everything!"

Of course I have!" Javert replied, walking over to him. Placing a hand on Jean Valjean's shoulder, he asked, "So now are _you_ ready?"

Smiled, Valjean turned to him and responded, "I am." He walked over to the sleigh, and hoisted himself up into the driver's seat. Javert followed, and chose the spot right next to his mate. Valjean slung a muscular arm around him, and with his free hand picked up the reins.

"Allow me," Javert said graciously. He reached into the depths of his own furred jacket, and pulled out a long leather whip. With it, he whipped the nearest animal square on its back flank, and the sleigh immediately jerked forward. He stole a glance at Valjean. "They're yours now," he said.

Jean Valjean guided the animals forward; slowly but surely the sleigh picked up speed until the landscape around them all became naught but a green and white blur. "Auguste!" Valjean called over the whistle of the wind. "Let's have one more, shall we?"

In reply, Javert lashed the nearest animal a second time, and the sleigh burst forth, shaking violently. They were now travelling at an alarming rate, faster than the fastest steamboat, fastest than the fastest locomotive. The reindeers' legs were now indistinguishable from the snowy ground that they galloped on.

"One more, Auguste!" Valjean hollered, struggling to make himself heard over the deafening shriek of the wind.

And Javert stood up. He lifted his whip high over his head, and brought it down with such a crack that it resonated in the deep, wild forest for miles and miles around. The first reindeer rose above the ground, then the two after him, and the two after them, and the two after them and the two after them until the very sleigh that Father Christmas and Father Whip rode on lifted up from the frozen Earth and flew effortlessly into the sky. Javert let out a loud whoop of elation, and fell back down into the seat beside Valjean.

"Merry Christmas, Jean!" he cried, embracing him strongly.

"Merry Christmas, Auguste," Jean Valjean replied, gently kissing his companion's cheek.

"I can't hear you, Jean!" Javert yelled in his ear.

"Merry Christmas, Auguste!" Jean Valjean repeated, a little louder.

"The world can't hear you, Jean!"

Jean Valjean stood up, and shouted out to into the night, "_Merry Christmas_!" And even though the children of the world were all fast asleep, in their hearts they heard this delirious cry, and rejoiced to know that Father Christmas was finally coming to make all of their Christmas wishes come true.

* * *

_Thank you LadyErised, for allowing me to expand on your "Pere Fouetteard." This chapter is especially dedicated to AmZ, and Tay-kun, who love ValjeanJavert more than anyone should.  
_


End file.
